No Mystery Left
by Mystikat
Summary: With the power of Google, Rachel goes about making her sex buddy into a boyfriend. Puck/Rachel, brief appearance by Santana. Rated for sexual content.


**No Mystery Left**

They've been messing around for about two weeks before she discovers Puck's Achilles' heel (more accurately perhaps would be Achilles' penis? She'd speculate with Finn if she hadn't grown some semblance of a social filter and realized the awful truth that he just wouldn't get the reference anyway. She blames today's sub par education system) in the form of her complete lack of a gag reflex.

Honestly, she'd been initially hesitant when he'd first suggested his desire for a... a blow job (she really doesn't understand how that horrid term became common use when fellatio is a perfectly respectable alternative), but he'd made a sound argument that it was only fair considering that "I fucking treat your pussy like an all-you-can-eat buffet" and he really did make her see stars (and they both knew much how much she loved her stars) so she graciously conceded. She's selfless like that; always putting others' needs above her own.

(Never-mind that she locked Quinn in the closet last week when Mr. Schue informed her that she'd be receiving the solo on their final song at Sectionals. It was simply a chance to demonstrate to Mr. Schue how much more suited she was for the part when she'd filled in that rehearsal for Quinn's absence.

Quinn and her may have an odd sort of truce going on, but her career is just not something she's willing to compromise on. Sectionals means possible exposure to talent scouts. Which could fast-track her inevitable stardom. End of story.)

This martyr like behavior dies a quick death however, when both Puck and her discover exactly what Ms. Pilsbury meant by the absence of a gag reflex being a "gift". Afterward, her jaw is sore, as well has her scalp (from his desperate grip when she rendered him near mindless), but she can't help the feeling that this is almost as good as getting - this sense of pure sexual satisfaction that she's put Puck into some sort of orgasm coma. (She can't help but think this is what Santana meant when she'd mentioned how accomplished her exploits made her feel. Rachel thinks that her own gratification might just exclusively apply to Puck. She'd _never_ felt like this with Finn, and she'd _loved_ him.)

(Did that mean she loved Puck?

…that would be pretty idiotic of her.

She pushes the unnerving thought aside.)

When Puck had recovered some and reached between her thighs to return the favor, he'd discovered her far too soaked to be simply aroused and groaned.

"Baby, did you?"

Heat flooding her cheeks, she'd nodded.

Awe-stuck, he'd rasped, "You are the _fucking hottest_ girl ever. Shit, Rach, don't go fucking _anywhere_, okay? I'm nowhere near done banging you."

She remembers dreamily wondering if he meant don't go right then, or anytime in the near (or distant?) future.

She didn't have much inclination to do either, whatever he'd meant.

It's about one month after that first foray into the world of fellatio that she begins thinking that she wants to stick around for more than just sex. At first she just passes them off as being a case of multiple orgasm afterglow (she'd read somewhere that sex sometimes could produce feelings of deep emotional intimacy where there was none. Causing participants to form a bond with their sexual partners, especially if that partner was a (every day) consistent one), but more and more she finds herself content with him, comfortable even when they're not engaged in intercourse.

Eventually she resigns herself to the fact that she's falling in love with the most romantically retarded man she knows. (Even more so than Mr. Schue! After having this thought she finds herself uncommonly depressed because lord knows that man can't seem to get it together.)

The solution to this seems obvious. Break it off, salvage what she can of her heart, and throw herself into her career with more fervor than ever before. Maybe buy a pint of orange sorbet and cry on Finn for a few days. They have a tentative friendship, but she values it even more than what they had when they were dating. (She doesn't realize how much this says about their previous romance.)

Instead, she decides that she is Rachel Berry, who wants everything too much, who wants Puck too much to just let him go.

She knows she'd regret never trying more than she would a broken heart.

Santana happens to be near her while she does a little research on the school computer, idly playing with her hair while she works on her history schoolwork (what? Santana isn't getting trapped in this shit town because she couldn't keep her grades up. Besides, Mr. Cross actually has morals or something about sexual favors in exchange for A's. Asshole) when Rachel turns to look at her and says, "Did you know that there's a therapy know as sexual reconditioning, most frequently used on paraphilias, that can actually retrain what a person associates with the cause of their orgasm?"

Santana doesn't miss a beat as she turns the page in her textbook, "No, but that explains a whole fucking lot."

And, with this choice piece of information, a plan is born.

That evening, her fingers pressing on his thighs, Rachel swallows around him as he jerks his hips against her face. She does it once more, letting her throat muscles stroke him, before she pulls back and releases him with a 'pop'. Puck groans at the replacement of her caressing fingertips and looks at her with slightly wild eyes.

She smiles. "Tell me you want me."

He gasps, "God, yes, I want your mouth so much, _please_."

"No." She wraps her hand around him and strokes firmly. "Tell me you want _me_."

"I do, you fucking know I do."

"Say it."

"Goddamn, Rach, _I want you_."

Satisfied, she takes him in her mouth again just as she moves her hand back slightly and _presses_. Just like that, he's gone.

After, she looks him in the eye and licks her lips.

So it goes like that, she'll work him up only to stop and demand he tell her that he wants her, that he likes her, that he wants her to stay.

She can't bring herself to ask him to love her. She tries, but just swallows her words and him, almost feeling like she's cheating somehow.

What seemed like a wonderful idea has now become sordid.

One night, when he's fallen asleep afterwards, she draws her knees up to her chest and just looks at him, thinking _I want him_.

But not like this. Love can't be about this.

Rachel decides she has to end it. Just give up and enjoy what she has with him until it's time to walk away. Ultimately, he might not love her, but he makes her happy. For as long as this is going to last, she's going to be happy.

She's sprawled across his chest, his fingers playing in her hair, relishing her afterglow when he idly asks "So, are you done 'training' me, then?"

She jerks away, but his arm around her waist doesn't allow her to get far.

"W-what?"

He smirks, "I haven't been told to tell you random-ass shit in the middle of you blowing me for almost a week, baby. Just curious why."

How - _damn_, Santana. Of course, those two have one of the weirdest friendships she's witnessed, and they do talk to each other. She's messed up so bad this time. He isn't ever going to forgive her for this.

"I - I can explain."

He raises an eyebrow, oddly patient, still fiddling with her hair.

"It was. I mean. It was stupid. I was just being an _idiot_. Noah, it was a mistake, but I swear I won't try it again."

"Why did you do it?"

Isn't it obvious?

"I wanted you to lo - _like_ me."

He chuckles, "One blow job at a time?"

She averts her eyes. "Well, when you put it like that, of course it sounds silly. It seemed sound at the time - there's been extensive studies into orgasm reconditioning and its success rate, while not substantial, is still sizeable…"

She trails off at the expression on his face.

"You're fucking crazy, you know that?"

"It becomes more evident every day, yes."

His eyes are warm, "My crazy girl. I didn't know I needed one in my life until you, Rach."

She is hopelessly in love with this man, never more than right now.

"So, stay with me, alright? I'm not anywhere near done with you."

She stays.

* * *

**Author's Note: **Once again prompted via the LJ comm "puckrachel", by "(210): I'm going to make him fall in love with me one blow job at a time."

I think this is the most risqué thing I've ever written. I know, probably on the mild side in the grand scheme of smut, but it was pretty fun and I'll for sure be trying my hand at it again.

Oh, and I have to add that I did, in fact, break out my Human Sexuality textbook for reference here. (BEST CLASS EVER.) I also took some liberties with the information, so don't go away thinking I've written the sex gospel or something.

Title taken from Rilo Kiley's "Portions For Foxes".


End file.
